I'm not sure when it happened, but consumption seems to be one of our biggest virtues. True, we don't have carte blanche anymore to buy and eat whatever we want (thanks a bunch, recession!), but we are way prouder about what we consume than we have any right to be.

For example:This summer, it's my goal to watch a movie every three days. That's 60 hours, or 2.5 days of cinematic gluttony. Now, I love movies. In fact, I wrote this after coming back from a bargain showing of Terminator Salvation (spoiler: things blew up). But watching this many movies is no great accomplishment. I'm still just consuming.

Along the same lines, I'm proud whenever I manage to finish the entire massive bowl of udon at a Japanese restaurant. But why? I just ate what they put in front of me and the only lasting effect is that I have to pee out 3 quarts…

A few days ago, Sarah and some of our friends were sitting down to a delicious brunch at Bistro 33, this slightly upscale chain that specializes in Pacific Northwestern cuisine. I think that basically means they serve salmon.

I got the two eggs any style and asked for one of the eggs to be fried and the other scrambled, since there was no stipulation that the "any style" had to be the same for both eggs. Oddly enough, I received two fried eggs... and then another fried egg for good measure. Their thought process was probably, "I know we're giving you a fried egg you didn't want, so to make up for it, here's another fried egg you didn't want."

Partway through the meal, a girl interrupted our friend James by calling out to him, "Jimmy? Oh my god, Jimmy!"

They had been best friends in undergrad, three years ago. In the intervening years he had gone to work and has gotten people to call him James. People don't call him Jimmy any more.

"Don't you walk away from me, John!" screamed the comically short blonde in the Raiders jersey. "John!" But John had already turned the corner and entered into the side-door of the building. He was taller than her with close cut salt and pepper hair and a slight slouch. He said nothing.

I crossed the street to be closer to them and hear the fight continue, a rubbernecker to this accident in progress. I caught snippets of the squat woman's tirade, as John emerged from the other side of the building:

"What have I ever done to you?! ... You have deceived me again! ... Get in my truck! Get in my truck and make me believe your lies!" She mentioned something about Charlie also that I couldn't catch. John got in the truck, in the driver's seat, surprisingly, and the woman continued yelling as she closed the cabin door, muffling her rage. I walked past the parking lot to see a mentally disabled man on a bicycle riding away from the building, appro…